


World Naked Gardening Day

by andabatae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Cunnilingus, Dominant Rose Tico, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gardens & Gardening, Hate to Love, Hux is a mess, Neighbors, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andabatae/pseuds/andabatae
Summary: Armitage Hux despises his neighbor, Rose Tico. She's noisy and distracting, from her pop music to her neon sports bras. Worst of all is her overgrown, chaotic garden, which she insists on watering at the same time Armitage tends his ruthlessly ordered plants.When his beloved cat escapes into Rose's garden, he hops the fence to rescue her. Only to discover...It's World Naked Gardening Day.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 63
Kudos: 403





	World Naked Gardening Day

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on [this prompt!](https://twitter.com/CaffeinatedJedi/status/1256667140029067265)
> 
> I hope you like my first Gingerflower!
> 
> Dedicated to all my beloved Reylos, with a tiny spite dedication for the commenter who told me I was a horrible person for having background Gingerflower. Guess what? Now it's foreground!

Armitage Hux liked things a certain way. Every surface in his home gleamed, his grass was neatly cropped, and his backyard garden was a masterwork of symmetry, precision, and utility. That garden, more than anything else, was a perfect reflection of his character. He grew nothing out of impulse or “whimsy”—what a dreadful concept—only what was practical. Being paranoid by nature, he didn’t trust Big Produce to produce the quality of food a body like his needed. He was an ultramarathon runner, dedicated to working out his neuroses through punishing physical discipline, and like a high-performance sports car, he deserved high-octane fuel.

His daily routine was regimented.

6am: Wake up

6:02am: Drink a pint of water

6:05am: Feed and pet Millicent

6:10am: Light stretching

6:15am: Half an hour on the treadmill

6:45am: A routine of crunches, lunges, squats, wall sits, and other strengthening exercises

7:15am: A round with the weights in the home gym

7:45am: Shower and morning wank

8:00am: Breakfast (either a green smoothie or a piece of the egg white vegetable breakfast casserole he made every Sunday)

8:15am: Head to work

8:30am-5:30pm: Work

5:45pm: Check on his garden. Verbally encourage and/or threaten plants that are underperforming

6:00pm: Yoga

6:30pm: Feed and pet Millicent

6:45pm: Light dinner

7:15pm-10pm: A mix of Netflix, reading the encyclopedia, learning Russian, and staring into the void.

10:05pm: Evening wank

10:15pm: Bed

His weekends held more variety, of course, but one of his main activities was tending the garden. He pruned, shaped, watered, fertilized, encouraged, and terrorized his plants as needed. As a result, he had the most lush and regimented plot in the neighborhood—something he was _extremely_ aware of every time he had the misfortune to look over the fence into his neighbor’s garden.

His neighbor. Rose Tico. Where to even start?

She was small, to begin with. So short that when she’d constructed her cinder block backyard fence, she’d neglected to account for a man of Armitage’s height. As a result, he could just peek over it.

Not that he did so for nefarious reasons, of course. No, he’d just been curious about the holy terror who blasted pop music next door, and ever since he’d seen her wild sprawl of a garden, he hadn’t been able to stop looking, rather like a bystander captivated by every detail of a gruesome car accident.

She had flowers. Not orderly flowers, which he might have accepted, despite their serving no practical purpose. No, her flowers _rambled._ They climbed. They twisted all around each other in a disorganized riot that made Armitage’s skin itch. And the produce…

Oh, it was too much for one man to process. She didn’t even have proper beds for her plants, just a few haphazard trellises for her peas. The tomatoes were near the cucumbers were near the fucking peonies for some reason, and she didn’t prune as ruthlessly as a proper gardener needed to. It was a suburban jungle, complete with odd, whimsical— _shudder — _ garden sculptures. And the worst, worst, _worst_ thing about that garden… was that Rose deliberately cultivated catnip.

Armitage’s cat, Millicent, loved catnip. And even though he was a diligent supplier of the herb—although he kept it as a special treat to make sure Millie didn’t form an unhealthy substance addiction—it wasn’t enough for the greedy thing. Millicent hopped over Rose’s wall on a daily basis, which meant her precious ginger paws were getting sullied by that sub-par garden.

He’d complained to Rose about it before, shortly after he’d moved in. He’d pounded on her door, full of righteous fury, only to be taken aback when a shockingly pretty woman had emerged wearing an owl onesie. “You need to rip up your catnip,” he’d said once he’d gotten over the combination of her face and her attire.

In response, she’d squinted at him. “Rose Tico,” she’d said. “And you are?”

And thus began an extremely unpleasant acquaintanceship.

Everything Rose did aggravated Armitage. The way she played music at 8pm, interrupting his scheduled brooding. The way she sang off-key while watering her plants on Saturdays, forcing him to listen to the oddly charming vocalizations. The way she wore sports bras under overalls while in her backyard, which was… distracting.

Well. Armitage supposed he brought it on himself for peering over the garden wall. But how could he resist spying on her when she was so horrible?

Rose didn’t seem to dislike him as intensely as he disliked her. No, she seemed to derive some sort of secret amusement from their interactions, always responding with something snarky or defiant when he made quite reasonable requests. When he’d suggested the scent of her baking chocolate chip cookies was an attack on health-conscious neighbors, she’d shrugged, then fished a cookie out of her pocket and eaten it right in front of him, maintaining unblinking eye contact. When he’d politely informed her that Britney Spears was a horrible musical artist, in addition to being passé, she’d looked him up and down and said, “Somehow I doubt you know anything about what’s passé, Armitage.” When he’d informed her that wearing sports bras as tops—and nothing else—was a good way to get skin cancer, she’d said “Thank you for paying so much attention to my breasts, Armitage. Can’t wait to discuss how you contain your dick!”

He’d been forced to flee after that last encounter, utterly humiliated.

Christ, she was awful.

She hadn’t stopped wearing sports bras after that conversation, of course. If anything, she’d started buying them in brighter and brighter colors. The pop music had gotten louder. The baking scents had intensified. And every time she caught him peeping over her fence, judging her unruly tomatoes, she gave him a wink and a waggle of her fingers.

He had a sneaking suspicion Rose Tico was trying to drive him insane.

This particular Saturday, after completing his biweekly 10k run, he dressed in gardening attire and went to the backyard to bring order to his beloved plants. His outfit was simple but practical—khaki shorts with socks pulled up high to protect his shins from thorns or insects, a loose button-up shirt to protect his pale skin from the sun, and a broad-brimmed hat. He covered himself in SPF 60 until he practically glowed. Then he put on his favorite black gardening gloves and got to work, starting with weeding.

Faint pop music sounded from next door, accompanied by off-key humming. He grimaced. Rose Tico must be outside again, tending her garden—although he had a feeling her version of “tending” was flinging seeds willy-nilly, crossing her fingers, and hoping for the best. Why did she insist on gardening exactly when he did?

Whatever. He had better things to think about than Rose Tico and her ridiculous outfits and her sparkling eyes and the way she always seemed to be making fun of him. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of growing things, then focused on his plants.

It was a sunny spring day, and as the morning bled into afternoon, he started to overheat. Sweat dripped down his temples and stuck his shirt to his chest. He knew his cheeks were flushed, and _not_ in an attractive way. Not that there was much attractive about Armitage, in his opinion, other than a pair of what he could admit were remarkable runner’s calves. Women simply didn’t fling themselves at surly string beans with bright ginger hair.

Millie watched him from her position curled up in the empty bird bath as he took clippers to his apple tree. It was covered in an array of pink-flushed white blossoms, which drifted down to rest at his feet as he shaped his tree into as orderly a design as he could manage considering the gnarled nature of apple branches. He couldn’t wait for the flowering season to be over so he could finally reap the benefits of having the best apple tree in the county.

He eyed the plot next to the fence, which was bare and waiting for him to plant something. He hadn’t been able to decide what yet. He had all the basic fruits and vegetables covered, but he was sure he was missing some essential nutrient.

Millie stretched and yawned, then lifted her nose, sniffing the air. Her whiskers twitched.

“Smell something you like, Millie?” he asked. Millie was the one part of his life that was allowed to be chaotic, mainly because he hadn’t figured out how to get a cat to behave in a rational manner yet. “No more lizards inside the house, hm?”

She leapt off the bird bath and prowled through the spinach, her orange fur a striking contrast to the glossy green leaves. She approached the empty plot, sniffed the dirt a bit… then hopped onto the garden wall.

“Don’t even think about it,” Armitage said, pointing his clippers at her. “You are absolutely not allowed over into that… that… tasteless jungle of a garden.”

There was an odd sound from over the fence, something that sounded like a muffled laugh. Maybe some type of bird? The only birds Armitage cared about were those that provided the protein on his plate, but Millie found all kinds appealing—although he supposed that was for the same reason.

Millie’s tail twitched. Then she leapt over the fence, disappearing into Rose Tico’s yard.

“Damn it, Millie!” Armitage raced after her. “No more catnip! You’ll become an addict!”

He hadn’t heard Rose’s music in a while. Maybe she’d gone inside, and he could quickly hop over the wall and retrieve his disobedient cat. He stood on his toes and peered over the fence. He couldn’t see all of the garden, just the half on this side of her yard, which was split by a spacious wooden deck. It was blessedly empty of any human inhabitants. And there Millie was, sniffing the catnip with absolutely no self-control.

Breaking and entering was not on Armitage Hux’s approved list of activities, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And if he hopped the fence, he wouldn’t technically be “breaking” anything, which meant his crime was just “entering,” which didn’t sound that bad.

Mind made up, he gripped the top of the wall and jumped, using his wiry strength to fling his leg up and over. The cinderblock scraped the inside of his knee, but he ignored the sting and hoisted himself over to drop on the other side.

His battered garden sneakers sank into loamy soil. Little green shoots sprouted up around him at chaotic intervals. He was loathe to walk in a garden bed, but really, what else could he do to these poor plants that Rose hadn’t done already?

He made his way through a tangled mess of primroses, sweet peas, squash, irises, and daffodils. Bees buzzed around the flowers, their tranquil drone filling the heat-thickened air. It smelled… really good. Dizzyingly good. Armitage inhaled deeply, wondering at all the sweet scents. His own garden smelled fine, he supposed, but this… this was wondrous. Was this why people planted flowers?

A loud purr split the air, and he was reminded of his purpose. “Millie, you naughty thing,” he chided, striding towards his catnip-addled cat. He scooped her up, cradling her close.

“Uh. Hi?”

Armitage turned around at the soft female voice… and promptly dropped Millie.

“Oh. My. God.” He gaped at Rose Tico, lost in a mix of wonder, horror, and internal screaming. She was… she was…

Naked.

Completely, utterly naked. The only thing on her very, very naked person was the soil-encrusted trowel held in her right hand. Her knees were smudged with dirt. Her breasts were… wow, yes, there they were. And between her legs a faint wisp of dark hair…

He snapped his gaze away instantly. A hot rush of mortification washed over him. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, backing away from her with his hands held up, like she was a wild animal that might charge. “I was simply retrieving my cat...” His cat that had fled again, curse the disobedient creature.

“So you decided to hop the fence?” Rose asked, countering his retreat by advancing towards him. Dear God, why wasn’t she covering up? His eyes darted everywhere, trying not to land on any one feature. As a result, he got quick impressions of _all_ the features, which wasn’t much better for his heart rate or the escalating situation in his shorts. His cock was straining at the material, so he hastily linked his hands in front of him, attempting to hide the bulge.

Unfortunately, her eyes dipped below his waist, and she smirked. “So,” she said, advancing another step. “You hate my music, you hate my garden, you hate my catnip… but it seems you don’t hate _everything_ about me.”

“Oh, God,” he choked out as he staggered backwards, trampling a patch of tulips. _“Why are you naked?”_

She shrugged, making those deliciously full breasts bounce. “It’s World Naked Gardening Day. A better question is, why are you wearing clothes?”

“Because I— I— I sunburn quite terribly.” He winced as soon as the words were out. What kind of justification was that? “And because it is extremely indecent to garden in the nude! Not to mention the health concerns. What if you tumbled into a rosebush or—or disrupted a hive of wasps?”

She tossed her head back and laughed. Her black hair gleamed in the sunlight. “I’m touched that you’re so concerned about my safety, Hugs.”

“Th-that’s not my name,” he stammered.

“I know.” Her sharp brown eyes bored into him. “No, you’re Armitage Hux, probably the third of his name, and a real jerk.”

“The first of his name, actually,” he muttered. His cheeks were burning. Had he applied enough sunscreen?

She shrugged again, and his eyes dropped to her breasts. He couldn’t help it. They were just so… _there._ And so beautiful, full and tipped with brown nipples. “But you’re also a sexy Brit who traipsed into my garden, and I like playing with my prey.”

His jaw dropped. “S-sexy? Prey?” He stepped back again, and his foot caught on a rock. He tumbled backwards, arms flailing, and crashed into a flowering bush. _Hydrangea_ was his first thought as he lay dazed in a sweet-smelling cocoon of bruised flowers and broken stems. _Ow_ was his second thought as his scratches began to sting. And then, as she leaned over him, looking concerned, all other thoughts were taken over by a litany of _Breasts breasts breasts breasts breasts._

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He groaned and sat up, mashing more blossoms with his gloved hand. “Yes, quite all right, dignity aside.”

Her look of concern turned into a scowl. “First you break into my yard, then you ruin my hydrangeas? How are you going to make this up to me, Hugs?”

“That’s not my name.” Sitting up put him almost face-height with her nether bits, and he was captivated by the just-visible curves of her labia. God, what he wouldn’t do to get his mouth on her... He licked his lips unconsciously, then flushed when he realized what he’d done. “Sorry,” he said, averting his eyes. “I haven’t seen a naked woman in… well, a long time, to be honest.”

“Somehow, Hugs,” she said, “that doesn’t surprise me.”

He sat in the evidence of his shame for a few more seconds, wondering what to do or say next. Rose Tico, neighbor from hell, was currently facing him down with her hands on her very nude hips. His hat was askew, his legs were scratched from toppling into a bush, and his dick was standing up like it was ready to give a showstopper performance on the West End. His cat was nowhere to be seen.

“Well,” he said, awkwardly pushing himself to his feet. There was nothing to be done about the shame or the dick at this point, so he reconciled himself to an eternity of reliving this mortification late at night. “I guess I’ll be going.”

“What about your cat?” Rose asked, eyes gleaming with mischief.

He groaned. “Millie. Christ.” He looked around frantically, hoping she’d be somewhere conveniently nearby so he could snatch her up and flee, but she was nowhere in sight. He swallowed hard. “I really should go. If you see her, can you…”

“Oh, no,” Rose said. A grin bloomed on her face. “You’re not getting away that easily.”

He stared, captivated by that wicked smile. “I— I’m not?”

She shook her head. “You’re in my garden on World Naked Gardening Day. Take off your clothes.”

Armitage Hux made a noise then. It wasn’t a sound that could be easily classified. Not a manly grunt, to be certain, and not quite a shriek, but definitely more towards the latter end of the spectrum. “You—what?” he said when he could finally manage words again.

She nodded definitively. “You’re trespassing on my property, you ruined my hydrangeas, and your cat is on the loose. You owe me something.”

“And that something,” he said, trying to maintain some sense of reason, “is my naked body?”

She beamed at him. “Precisely.”

His dick twitched. It didn’t realize she probably just wanted to laugh at his pasty white figure. No, his dick was imagining owing her plenty of things, including a screaming orgasm.

Rose already knew he was hard, but if he took off his shorts, it would be so much worse. He cleared his throat. “I’ll burn.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s just for a few minutes. And if it’s that bad, I’ll lather you up with sunscreen.”

“Lather me… a few minutes?” His head was spinning. What was happening?

Rose stood on tiptoes and grabbed his hat, unhooking the strap from under his chin before she flung it away. Then she started unbuttoning his shirt. Armitage gripped her wrists, and she stilled.

“Well?” she demanded. “Are you going to undress yourself, or shall I?”

“Guh,” he said. He released her wrists and then, in a daze, stripped off his gardening gloves and started unbuttoning his shirt. The sun warmed the exposed slice of his sweaty chest, the golden rays sinking in in a way that foretold tomato-hued agony later. But if it was only going to be for a few minutes…

He shrugged the shirt off. Rose’s eyes were glued to his torso. Self-conscious about his skinniness—marathon running didn’t build bulky muscle—he clenched his abs. Her eyes widened, and he felt a surge of masculine pride.

“You work out,” she said in a breathy voice.

“Yes,” he said. “Every morning.”

“Mmmm.” She hummed, cocking her head as she studied him. “I think I’d like to see you work out every night.”

His brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t want to overexert my muscles—”

“If you know what I mean.”

He fell silent.

Rose winked.

Around them, the garden buzzed with life. The lazy drone of bees filled the air, and a butterfly flapped its bright wings across a blue sky. Armitage Hux stood silent and still under the beating sun, unable to muster a single sentence.

Rose bit her lip. “Halfway there,” she said in a throaty voice as her fingers landed on the waistband of his khaki shorts. “Time to find out what you’re hiding under these grandpa clothes.”

He couldn’t move. He just watched, mouth open, as she carefully tugged his zipper down over the bulge in his shorts. Then she tucked her fingers into the waistband of his underwear and stripped both garments down.

His erection sprang out, and Rose gasped. “Oooh,” she said, eyes locked on his cock. “Look at that.”

Then her tiny fingers wrapped around him, and Armitage jolted back to life. “What are you doing?” he gasped, hand dropping to cover hers.

She winked at him—bloody winked!—and stroked slowly up and down. “You’re in my yard on World Naked Gardening Day. And my garden definitely needs tending.”

His hand fell away, nerveless. His head tipped back, and his eyes closed as her thumb swiped over the head of his cock. “Unh.”

She gripped him harder, squeezing until his eyes popped open again. “This isn’t for you,” she told him. “This is because you’ve been absolutely awful, and you need to make it up to me.”

She released his cock and planted her hands on her hips, staring at him expectantly.

“I… what…” He shook his head, trying to clear it. He was standing in Rose Tico’s garden, slowly cooking under the sun, with his shorts pooled around his ankles and his cock so hard it ached. Rose wanted her garden tended, most definitely in a euphemistic way. “You want me to… make you come?”

Her face lit up like he was a dog who had performed a particularly clever trick. “That’s exactly it,” she said, clapping her hands. “Or you can hop back over that garden wall and never say anything about my catnip or my garden ever again.”

It was… a choice. Not a difficult choice, according to his erection, which was in the driver’s seat at the moment. He could go back home and furiously wank in the privacy of his own bathroom… or he could take what his sexy, aggravating neighbor was offering and get his mouth all over that pretty pussy.

“Can we at least move out of the sun?” he asked.

Rose laughed, then held out a hand. He grabbed it, tugging his pants up with his free hand to allow him to walk. She led him up onto her deck, then over to a lounger in the shade of the roof overhang.

Rose lay down on the lounger and spread her legs. She looked at him hungrily, eyes skating over his arms, his abs, the hand clenched at his waist to hold his shorts up. “I’ll have you know I’m expecting a lot,” she said. “No one is that intense without being a bit of a freak.”

He stared at her exposed pussy, wondering if he’d ever seen anything so perfect in his life. Against all odds, he had gotten laid a few times in college, but that had been when both parties were drunk enough to pretend they wouldn’t find each other insufferable in the morning. Now it was daytime, he was totally sober, and this strange, beautiful woman was offering him her body even though she disliked him. “Why?” he blurted out before he could think better of it.

Her brow crinkled. “Why what?”

“You think I’m a jerk,” he said. “So… why?”

“Because you make me horny,” she said. “Simple as that. I like your accent and your red hair and your muscles. I like the way you look all pinched and pissy when I’ve annoyed you.” Her smile turned wicked. “I’ve had so much fun picking which music you’ll hate the most, you know. And after we first met…” Her voice lowered dramatically. “I planted more catnip.”

He gaped at her. “You’ve been antagonizing me on purpose?”

“Well, yeah.” She winked. “Now do you want to keep asking questions, or do you want to put that prissy mouth to good use?”

Armitage was bewildered and offended and turned on all at once. He’d never once had someone run roughshod over him like this, and he oddly… liked it? It was very clear who was in charge, and it wasn’t him.

“All right,” he said, dropping his shorts and underwear, then toeing off his shoes to get fully naked. “I’ll give you what you want.” He crawled onto the lounger, settling between her legs with his face hovering over her pussy. She let her thighs sag wider, giving him access. He stared for a few moments, taking in the glory of those slick folds, then reached out to trace a finger over her contours.

She shivered. “I didn’t take you for a gentle guy.”

“Despite being British?” he asked, quirking a brow at her. “We’re the quintessential gentlemen.” When she rolled her eyes, he smirked. “At any rate, I’m just familiarizing myself with the territory.”

“Getting the lay of the land?”

“Just so.” He rubbed her clitoris in slow circles, watching in awe as her folds grew slicker the more aroused she grew. He inhaled, loving the musky scent of her.

“Well, you’re taking too long,” she said, small hand fisting in his hair. His hair wasn’t overlong—not like that brute Solo he worked with—but there was enough of it for her to get a decent grip.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the complaint, even though his first instinct was to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. “Patience is a gardener’s greatest virtue,” he said. “If you aren’t slow…” He leaned in to lick a stripe over her pussy. “And careful…” He swirled the tip of his tongue over her clitoris. “You won’t get to see what the garden looks like in bloom.”

She scoffed. “Enough talk,” she said. “Now get in there and water my vegetable patch.”

He winced. “All right, no more gardening metaphors.” He started licking her in earnest, mapping every centimeter of her delectable pussy before circling his tongue over her clit. Rose sighed and shifted, her hands tightening in his hair whenever he did something she particularly liked.

Armitage was a man of many traits, but chief among them was diligence. He regulated his life ruthlessly, accepting nothing less than perfection from himself and his environs (Millie excluded, due to the inherent chaos of cats). He applied that diligence now, dedicating himself to giving his evil neighbor the best damn head of her life. By the time he was through, he wanted his face soaked and his ears ringing from her screams. He wanted to wear the signs of her pleasure like a badge.

“Fuck, you’re good at this.” Rose gasped and arched her back. Her hips shifted, so he planted a hand on her belly to hold her down. God, she was delectable, all soft curves and smooth skin.

“For someone so tart,” he said, “you taste awfully sweet.” He sucked her clitoris as he sank one finger inside her, and Rose moaned.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Right there, you ginger fuck.”

His cock was pressed against the lounge chair, and at those words, he grunted and thrust involuntarily. The coarse fabric rasped over his sensitive skin, and he shivered. Christ, why did he enjoy her talking to him like that?

He licked, sucked, nibbled, and generally ate the fuck out of her sopping wet pussy. When she gasped that one finger wasn’t enough, he added a second. He crooked them to drag the pads of his fingers over her G-spot, and she shouted. “Oh my God, please!”

If he hadn’t been frantically suckling her clitoris, he would have grinned in triumph. Rose was falling apart under him. He could hear her gasping breaths over the sloppy sounds of what he was doing, and her legs started to tremble. She was close, he knew it, so even though his jaw was aching, he applied himself even more rigorously. This was a marathon, not a sprint, and he was determined to come in first… by making _her_ come first.

Rose shrieked. Her fingers twisted in his hair, and she arched her back, feet scrabbling against the cushion. Her pussy squeezed his fingers in rhythmic contractions. He kept licking, kept touching, determined to draw her pleasure out.

Finally, she slumped onto the lounger with a wavering moan. He pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean, which evoked another shiver from her. “Delectable,” he said.

Her cheeks were flushed, and sweat beaded on her skin. “I fucking knew it,” she slurred. “You’re so intense.”

He knelt upright between her thighs and smirked at her. “Oh, so you like that now?”

She grinned at him, and his heart skipped a beat. God, was he falling for his terrible neighbor? Consulting himself, he found his cock, brain, and heart all in agreement—Rose Tico was a goddamn miracle.

Her eyes dropped to his dick, and she licked her lips. “I’m considering forgiving you for giving me shit about my garden,” she said. “But it might take a little more convincing.”

“Your garden is an atrocity,” he said. “That’s the honest truth, and it may smell nice, but it’s hardly the most efficient use of space…” He trailed off at the terrifying look on her face. “I mean, um, how can I convince you?”

“Attaboy,” she said.

The condescension rankled, but against all odds, he grew even harder. What sorcery was this? It was like he’d been waiting his entire life for this small, feisty devil to put him in his place.

Rose stood up, then held out a hand for him. “Step one is taking a shower with me. Step two is giving me another orgasm. Step three is letting me suck that gorgeous cock.”

He made a garbled sound and shot to his feet, squeezing her sweaty hand in his. “Yes,” he said. “To all of it.”

Her smile turned wicked again. “After that… we’ll see.” She brought his hand to her mouth… then bit his finger gently. “I think we’re about to have a lot of fun, Hugs.”

Even though that wasn’t his name, he really couldn’t find it in himself to object. “We definitely will.” Then he remembered something. “Can we… can we also look for Millie?”

Her smile softened. Then she gestured at her door. “She’s sitting right there.”

And yes, there she was, the gorgeous traitor, licking her tail in front of Rose’s screen door. Armitage exhaled in relief. “I just need to take her back home—”

Rose tipped her head back and laughed. “Oh, Hugs, she comes over here all the time. Has her own litterbox and everything. She’ll be fine.”

He opened his mouth, ready to express his outrage at Millie’s improper behavior… then realized he was naked, Rose Tico was naked, and an afternoon of delight awaited them. What was the point in being upset? “All right,” he said, letting go of his petty grievances. “Let’s get that shower.”


End file.
